PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

There was a very sad girl in the shade of a tree in front of a cemetery.
Her knees were curled to her chest. She looked lost; sort of angry.
The air of the day was thick and unforgiving. Why was she so still?
Could she be waiting? Whatever for? Who would subject themselves
to the climes of the afternoon in a summer of Cincinnati?
She locked eyes with me as I passed her on by. They didn't reveal much,
besides reflecting the tombstones that stood 'cross her way.
Her shade like an island amidst a desert painted green. She retreated
and took to its sanctuary as if afraid the sky was to fall.
She wore white, and her skin so pale. Her eyes were quite sharp,
and her hair was a deep, unbroken black. She was young.
I fretted over her for a moment in a distant, yielding manner.
My thoughts had quieted. I was listening to the music playing
on a factory stereo that always sounds like coming home,
and allowing it to sway me this way and that until we arrived.
Then in the evening, amidst my drunken and stoned
uproarious display of ferocious dictation, I glanced at my phone
and saw a note to myself that spoke of a girl,
that sat in the shade of single small tree,
in front of a cemetery.